“He’s a cursed deal cleverer than you, Francesco, and handsomer too,” said Spini, turning on his associate with a general desire to worry anything that presented itself.
“I humbly conceive,” said Ser Ceccone, “that Messer Francesco’s poetic genius will outweigh—”
“Yes, yes, rub your hands! I hate that notary’s trick of yours,” interrupted Spini, whose patronage consisted largely in this sort of frankness. “But there comes Taddeo, or somebody: now’s the time! What news, eh?” he went on, as two Compagnacci entered with heated looks.
“Bad!” said one. “The people have made up their minds they were going to have the sacking of Soderini’s house, and now they have been balked we shall have them turning on us, if we don’t take care. I suspect there are some Mediceans buzzing about among them, and we may see them attacking your palace over the bridge before long, unless we can find a bait for them another way.”
“I have it!” said Spini, and seizing Taddeo by the belt he drew him aside to give him directions, while the other went on telling Cei how the Signoria had interfered about Soderini’s house.
“Ecco!” exclaimed Spini, presently, giving Taddeo a slight push towards the door. “Go, and make quick work.”
CHAPTER LXVII.
Waiting by the River.
About the time when the two Compagnacci went on their errand, there was another man who, on the opposite side of the Arno, was also going out into the chill grey twilight. His errand, apparently, could have no relation to theirs; he was making his way to the brink of the river at a spot which, though within the city walls, was overlooked by no dwellings, and which only seemed the more shrouded and lonely for the warehouses and granaries which at some little distance backward turned their shoulders to the river. There was a sloping width of long grass and rushes made all the more dank by broad gutters which here and there emptied themselves into the Arno.
The gutters and the loneliness were the attraction that drew this man to come and sit down among the grass, and bend over the waters that ran swiftly in the channelled slope at his side. For he had once had a large piece of bread brought to him by one of those friendly runlets, and more than once a raw carrot and apple-parings. It was worth while to wait for such chances in a place where there was no one to see, and often in his restless wakefulness he came to watch here before daybreak; it might save him for one day the need of that silent begging which consisted in sitting on a church-step by the wayside out beyond the Porta San Frediano.